


going with you

by verseau



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 01:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verseau/pseuds/verseau
Summary: Neil navigates a season with Andrew and his scattered Foxes.





	1. Chapter 1

_You have to think about your brand_ , Allison texts him at 9am one morning, out of the blue and disrupting Neil’s first cup of coffee. Andrew is sitting across from him at the tiny dining table Renee picked out, and he doesn't make any indication of noticing the rapid vibrations of Neil's phone. _Neil. You can't just stay completely out of the radar forever._

_?????_ Neil messages back, having to press down hard on his keypad for the symbols to go through. He's had the one for years and he thinks it may be time for a replacement, but Andrew hasn't gotten a replacement, and both their tiny phones still call most of the time. Always seems a little excessive, anyway. 

_Do you know what Instagram or Twitter are?_ Allison messages him back. 

_Yes, obviously_ , except it's more like kind of. Neil knows they exist, because Kevin is always texting him at two in the morning which picture looks best for instagram? and the first time he asked what the fuck that was instead of just choosing the better picture, he got a hostile link to Wikipedia. Really, all it was was the link, but Neil can read his tone. That, and he only sends links he knows Neil can't open on a phone without internet when he's feeling particularly annoyed. 

In this case, always is not excessive. It's a marker of fact. 

_Do you know that you have an Instagram, Neil?_

_Yes_ , Neil replies. Kind of, again. Kevin mentions it every so often, because it pisses him off that Neil never uses it and, admittedly, doesn’t even know the password. But Neil just ignores him. If anything, it encourages him to keep his distance from social media even more. He gave Allison permission to maintain it ages ago, after he’d already used his and Andrew’s shared laptop to look it up, and whenever they meet up when he has games in New York or during their group vacations, she takes a bunch of pictures of the Foxes in general, and him especially. For the Instagram you never use, she always reminds him, and Neil just shrugs and tries to smile for the camera. _Why?_

_Kevin has mentioned to me that your Instagram, the one you never use, is kinda impersonal and that as the second most popular exy player in the world, your fans expect a little more interactoin._  
*interactoin  
*INTERACTION motherfucker 

_Why are u quoting kevin word for word he said this to me yday_

“Do you want me to leave?” Andrew asks, looking up from neither his book nor his giant coffee cup--Neil’s coffee cup, with a bunch of illustrations of cats that Andrew has basically stolen for himself and, of course, refuses to admit he even likes. “I can leave you to your phone. Permanently.” 

“Shh,” Neil says, waving him off as Allison replies back immediately. 

_Because he has a point_ , Allison says. _Either more social media or more interviews. Interviews are pretty easy to schedule for someone as famous as you._

Neil makes a noise of distress in the back of his throat. Without context, Andrew snorts. 

_I dont even have a phone that can take pictures. I dont want one_

_ESPN has been begging to have you on a live primetime segment for months_

_How do I get a new phone? Tell me where to go_

“Andrew, get a new phone with me,” Neil says, putting his chin in the hand not nervously holding his cellphone. His soon-to-be-discarded cellphone. 

“My phone works perfectly fine,” is Andrew’s bored reply. 

“I’ll close the bedroom door so the cats can’t get in for a week,” Neil offers. 

“Three weeks,” Andrew says, lowering his book a little to look Neil in the eyes. 

Neil hesitates. “Two. Fluffkins gets lonely and starts whining. Do you want scratched doors?”

“I want them thrown out,” Andrew says, but Neil doesn’t believe him. Andrew has been caught cuddling with Sir Fat Cat more than once. He has a favorite. Neil thinks it’s because Sir Fat Cat moves so slowly that he’s just as lethargic as Andrew and therefore can’t slip between the doors when Andrew is trying to shut him out. Still. Favorites. Tolerance. Arguably affection. 

“Andrew,” Neil says, pushing Andrew’s coffee cup just an inch to get Andrew’s attention again. 

“Fine,” Andrew finally says, sounding deeply unimpressed. “Tell Allison if she gives some fucked up color, I’ll burn down her entire apartment complex.”

Neil grins. That's basically an enthusiastic yes. 

_Can andrew get one too?_

_We'll get black for you both_ , Allison replies. _When you're in New York this weekend, make time. I'll send you the time._

At ten am on Saturday, Andrew and Neil both have the newest version of iPhone in shiny jet black. Allison brings them to coffee to help Neil set everything up, but Andrew figures it all out himself ten minutes in with wifi, completely ignoring them both in favor of working on it. 

“So for Instagram, it'll be this app once it's done downloading,” Allison says, leaning against his shoulder. Neil hates when people get this close to him, but Allison is one of eight or so exceptions. She definitely knows. She goes through the process of explaining posting, and then because she's Allison and can never half-ass anything, she has him download an editing app, and quickly goes over that, as well. 

“Try taking a picture and posting now,” she says. “Let them know it's you with a caption.”

Neil opens his camera app, not sure yet if he likes how sensitive the screen is to his touch, and snaps a photo of Andrew with his eyes trained on his new phone and his super sweet barely-coffee drink and chocolate chip muffin poised in front of him and half finished. 

“Andrew, can I post this picture of you?” Neil asks him, turning the phone over and reaching it across the table so Andrew can see. Andrew shrugs and nods once. 

Yesterday was a bad day for them both but Andrew especially, and they barely spoke two words together in an entire day of not moving from the couch and staring aimlessly at their books or the laptop. Their hotel room felt stuffy, and even when they started packing to go for a drive to wherever--Boston, Neil had been thinking--Neil’s sentences were the only handful to remind Andrew to get ID for their rental and map out directions with a soft voice.

By the end of the drive back to their hotel room, Andrew was holding Neil’s hand and only letting go to change gears. That was their only contact all day, but it helped Neil breathe easier than he thought he knew how.

Today is already so much better. Andrew is agreeable today. It takes so much for Neil to keep from grinning at every yes. 

His caption is simple. _Hi, everyone. It's actually Neil. Allison says hi. Andrew takes his coffee with so much sugar and milk, you can't tell it's coffee anymore._ He posts. 

“That'll do,” Allison says, and then has to immediately show him how to turn off notifications for everyone but verified users as his phone goes crazy with notifications. 

Eight million followers is a lot. He didn't even know that many people knew him. 

Allison already has him following her and their friends, but he's shocked to see that he's following Andrew. 

He looks at Allison, then at Andrew, whose eyes are still trained on his phone, coffee cup at his lips. 

“I gave her permission,” Andrew says, even before Neil has to ask. 

“Hm,” Neil says. Next to him Allison says,”duh, Neil, I wouldn't without, I'm not suicidal,” but Neil is already distracted. There are five total posts on Andrew’s account--one of him in goal at their home opening game, 2 side profile shots, one of Neil and Kevin playing with Sir Fat Cat on the floor, a closeup of the candles from their last party for Kevin’s birthday, and one of his pack of cigarettes just lying on the sand next to him. 

“When did he even give permission for these?” Neil says. He's a little put out at being left out.

“Email,” Allison says. “I send the pictures and he replies okay or ignores it altogether. These are 5 out of 50 allowed.”

Five more than Neil would expect. The picture of him and Kevin with Sir Fat Cat makes his chest twinge; the idea that Andrew saw this and said yes, the 3.5 million people that follow him even though he has no posts, yes, they're allowed to see this as some sort of misguided insight to Andrew’s mind and interests. 

“I'm taking control of it,” Andrew says, putting his phone down and keeping eye contact with Neil even though it has to be meant for Allison. 

“Will you post once every two weeks,” Allison asks, tone barely questioning. She sounds suspicious, though they all know that Andrew doesn't care. He says what he says, and that's usually it. 

Well. Neil can argue for some things. But Neil is aware now, finally, he can hear Dan sighing, that he's allowed more than the rest. 

Andrew just raises an eyebrow at her and doesn't respond. Allison sighs.


	2. Chapter 2

They have a game against the Washington Stars on Saturday, but what excites Neil even more than the thought of the fierce challenge against their closest opponents is the anticipation of seeing Dan and Matt. 

The Foxes are sprinkled along the east coast. Kevin almost signed to Seattle, since the draft was basically a joke when your last name was Day and the sport was _yours_. He wanted Seattle because the West had a stronger base, better players and better weather, a consistent pool of superstars and shots at championships. The press was crazy over it, at the idea that Kevin Day would immediately trade out from whoever drafted him--first overall was a given, both a right and a hard-earned privilege--to immediately head to Seattle. 

And he almost did. Neil took his fourth year finals early so that he could get on a plane with Andrew to head to Seattle after the draft. Andrew told him he was an idiot, but if Kevin wanted them both to go, he was determined to try to overtake his messy past and step into Seattle soil. 

Andrew was right. 

He’s gotten better at games on the west coast, but that first visit back and the panic and fight or flight instincts that came up every time he stepped outside, the crushing and overwhelming hurt the day Kevin was meant to sign his contract--it wasn’t pleasant. It wasn’t forgettable.

Andrew pulled Kevin aside when they had to pull over on the side of the highway in Andrew’s rented Audi to give Neil time to heave his lunch into the bushes, but Neil still doesn’t know what they discussed. All he knows is that in the end, Kevin didn’t sign with Seattle, and the soaring relief was more than enough to drown out both curiosity and guilt. 

The point is that Kevin instead stayed with the New York Libertys, the shitty team that’d been lucky enough to win draft lottery in the first place, and Kevin’s presence turned them so completely around that they won championships his first year in. 

The east coast is a good place to be. D.C., even with how much Andrew complains about politicians and the stench of corruption in the air, is one of Neil’s favorites on the seaboard. 

Matt and Dan live in a halfway point between Dan’s coaching school and Matt’s professional stadium, much like Andrew and Neil did when they were first playing on separate teams. It’s big and spacious and comfortable, and Neil loves when he visits on personal occasions with the team spread out across the two floors in the homey and warm rooms. 

He doesn’t have time to make it to their place during this single day trip, since his Magnets get in during the late morning and plan on leaving by sunrise the next, but he still texts Matt and Dan _Lunch?_

_Brunch_ , Dan replies confidently. _its so weird seeing u reply w blue texts instead o f green omg all grown up ♥_

_Ok_ , Neil replies, smiling bemusedly down at his phone. He doesn’t realize what she means, but if the heart means it makes her happy, then he’s okay with it. _See you soon_ , he sends, and then thinks again and sends a separate _♥_ to go with hers. 

_So cute :D_ , Matt replies an hour later when he’s out of practice. _My two soulmates ♥_. 

Neil snorts. When Andrew looks over his shoulder at a red light on their way to the diner Dan texted instructions for, he rolls his eyes and murmurs, “idiots,” under his breath. Neil doesn’t doubt that he’s included, but he’s already thankful enough that Andrew agreed to tag along to keep silent, even though he _had_ to rent a car for just this single day excursion. Sometimes they bring his Maserati along, but it’s in the shop for tuning and tire changes. It was funny watching Andrew’s jaw clench as he handed over his keys to the mechanic. 

Allison likes having an excuse to drink bloody marys and incredibly spiked orange juices in the morning and Dan loves breakfast food but hates actual breakfast time, so Neil has done brunch more times in the past few years than he knows what to do with. He and Andrew are on the same schedule, so a nine am breakfast works out just fine for them both, and his mom only ever liked eating in if it was a beatdown diner late in the middle of the night. 

The diner Dan has sent them to is cozy and small but far from beatdown. It feels how honey tastes, quiet and sweet and warm on his tongue. 

It’s busy, so there’s low chatter running through the air, intermingled with the occasional outburst from a child, the frantic Excuse me! to hail down a server. Dan is sitting in a booth right along the corner, next to one of the almost-wall length windows that seem to be the primary bringers of light into the restaurant. Clouds are in full swing today, but the sun manages to shine through with powerful beams of light, and it only serves to make the restaurant homelier. There are string lights above the reach of the windows, wrapped all around the building this time, and Neil wonders at how great the place must look with them on. 

“Andrew, let’s get string lights,” Neil says as he gestures to the host that they’re already meeting someone there and walk over to where Dan is waving her arm and grinning at them. 

“Did you forget about your demon cats?” Andrew asks him, walking straight ahead and almost smashing into a server with a tray of glasses that falsely assumes he’ll move out of the way.

“ _Our_ demon cats,” Neil corrects. “Sir Fat Cat hates moving and Fluffkins can’t actually walk on walls yet.”

“Yet,” Andrew says ominously. 

Neil lets Dan hug him tightly and kiss his cheek for at least thirty seconds before sliding into the booth with Andrew following for the aisle seat. 

“What are you angry about today, Andrew?” Dan asks, leaning her chin on her hands and grinning even wider when Andrew ignores her and picks up the menu to browse. One time Andrew looked her dead in the eyes and raised an eyebrow, and Dan cackled and bragged about it to Matt for a month straight. “

Neil’s lips quirk up. “King Fluffkins made it onto our bed yesterday, so Andrew is freaking out thinking about the two cat hairs he’ll find when we get back.”

“Fuck off,” Andrew murmurs, raising his menu higher so that his face is completely hidden from Dan’s laughing face. 

“ _Neil_ ,” a happy voice exclaims, and then Matt is sliding into the booth and leaning across Dan’s position and the table between them to slide his hands into Neil’s and squeeze tightly. Neil didn’t notice him coming in, but his face lights up at the sight of him. It’s been weeks since they last saw each other; even though Matt was the first one to reply to the group chat Allison made him join the day he got his new phone and they message daily, seeing him in person is so beyond comparison. 

“Hi, Matt,” Neil says, smiling. 

“I’m so glad we can see each other now and not just when we’re decimating you on the court tonight,” Matt sighs happily after convincing Dan to switch spots with him so that he’s sitting directly across Neil. 

Andrew snorts. 

They order food--scrambled eggs and french toast with a pound of strawberries for Dan, a Belgian chocolate chip waffle with more chocolate chips slowly melting on top and then at least three cans of whipped cream topping it off, and Neil and Matt each get their own egg white omelettes and share a stack of whole grain pancakes topped with fresh fruit and a reasonable, moderated amount of whipped cream. Neil almost wishes Kevin was here. Dan would gloat at her ability to eat the several slices of his favorite breakfast food that he tries to limit himself to eating once a month, and he would _never_ shut up about Andrew’s meal. Like, never. Neil doesn’t know why he wastes his breath every time he sees Andrew eating anything other than vegetables, but his determination to rant at any given moment is unparalleled. 

The last time they had time to meet up with him in New York for a pre-game lunch with each other instead of their teams, Andrew had nothing but fries and an Oreo shake. Kevin almost had an aneurysm going on about how between the smoking and this terrible eating, Andrew’s career would burn out just as quickly as it’d begun, and in a rare display of pure spite directed towards Kevin, who was usually safe from it, Andrew shut out Kevin’s team that night. 

It was a devastating loss for the Libertys, but a great day for Neil. 

“Wait,” Matt says, fork halfway to his mouth, “Neil. Andrew. Did you make that snorting noise because of what I said about the game tonight?”

In response, Andrew looks him dead in the eye as he chews another bite-size syrup-soaked piece. 

“Wow,” Matt says. Dan is laughing. “I thought Neil was lying when he said you sometimes almost care about exy.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” says Andrew, but he’s turned his face so that he’s looking directly at Neil as he says it. He raises a judgemental eyebrow. Neil grins.

“Does Kevin know about this?” Dan asks. “I can’t imagine he hasn’t had a press conference about it yet if he does.”

Andrew taps the side of his mouth once, so Neil tries licking away whatever must be on his mouth. He’s sure he looks like an absolute idiot, though, because eventually Andrew just sighs longsufferingly and uses his thumb to wipe away the whipped cream cornering Neil’s lips. Jokingly--as a joke, he’ll remind Dan and Matt for days after--he opens his mouth and pokes his tongue out just a bit. His eyes are bright.

Still doesn’t mean he expects Andrew’s to darken, nor could anyone have expected Andrew to quickly wipe his finger clean on Neil’s tongue and look away before Neil can even react. He’s scowling down at his waffle. 

Even though he can’t look Matt or Dan in the eyes for several minutes, Neil’s grin only gets wider.


End file.
